


joyful and grieving, flowering like the stars

by sarahyyy



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Nymphs & Dryads, Requited Love, no seriously please note that there is what equates to character death at the end of this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-04-08 22:57:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4324005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyyy/pseuds/sarahyyy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire blinks at that, visibly startled. “Everyone loves you.”  </p><p>“Including you?” Enjolras asks.</p><p>Grantaire’s lips part, and he is so, so lovely when he says, “Especially me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	joyful and grieving, flowering like the stars

**Author's Note:**

> Happy belated birthday, Sarah [merry-taire](http://merry-taire.tumblr.com/)

He’s been feeling wrong all morning. His fingers won’t stay still, he’s impatient and restless, and he cannot figure out why. 

Cosette stops by to visit, suggests that he plays his harp to calm himself down, and he tries to do that, he really does, but nothing he plays sounds right, and he’s still itching for… _something_. 

He thinks about taking a walk, but he’s snappish today, as evidenced by his interactions with Cosette, and he doesn’t want to subject anyone else to his apparent bad mood, so he stays in, and stews in his restlessness, tries to figure out what he’s craving for, what he’s missing. 

The answer, when it presents itself, is simple. 

Something settles within him the moment he sees Grantaire walking towards him, a bunch of daisies in his hands. The uncomfortable feeling inside him, when he takes a breath to check, has vanished completely. 

“Grantaire,” he breathes out, because oh, now that he’s figured it out, it’s all become so simple. “Grantaire,” he calls out, louder this time.

“Apollo,” Grantaire greets, and dips his head. 

Enjolras crosses the room, makes his way to Grantaire, and says, “Grantaire, do you love me?”

Grantaire blinks at that, visibly startled. “Everyone loves you,” he replies softly after a moment, looking away from Enjolras. 

The flush on Grantaire’s cheeks is mesmerising; Enjolras cannot look away, doesn’t want to look away. 

He reaches out, catches Grantaire’s chin in his hand, and tips Grantaire’s gaze back to him. “Including you?” he asks.

Grantaire’s lips part, and he is so, so lovely when he says, “Especially me.” 

Enjolras smiles and leans in, presses his lips to Grantaire’s for the space of a breath. Grantaire’s lips are soft, and he’s trembling a little against Enjolras, and Enjolras has never been so enraptured his entire life. 

“ _Apollo_ ,” Grantaire whispers, when Enjolras pulls away.

“Enjolras,” Enjolras corrects gently. He is always Enjolras to those dear to him, and Grantaire— Oh, Grantaire is the dearest to him.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire says, stunned, smiling back at Enjolras as if he’s helpless to do otherwise, and Enjolras can’t help but to lean in close to Grantaire again. Grantaire stops him with a hand to his chest. “Enjolras, what are you doing?” 

“I’m following my heart,” Enjolras tells him, truthfully, and it is Grantaire who curls his hand over the back of Enjolras’ neck to pull him into a kiss next. 

He smiles at the circle of flowers surrounding them when he takes Grantaire by his hand and leads him into his chambers. 

—

Grantaire’s kisses are sweet, his touches gentle, his body pliant and soft beneath Enjolras’, and it all goes to Enjolras’ head faster than the finest of wines.

“I love you,” he says against Grantaire’s lips, fingers trailing down Grantaire’s body, light and teasing.

“I love you,” he says, breathing the words against Grantaire’s collarbone, grasping Grantaire’s cock in his hand. 

“I love you,” he says, fierce and sure, braced above Grantaire, watching every flicker of pleasure across his face as he enters Grantaire.

“I love you,” he says, rocking into Grantaire, and cuts Grantaire’s moan off with his lips, swallows Grantaire’s cries of ecstasy.

“Would you like to hear me say it back?” Grantaire asks, smiling up at him, flush high in his cheeks, fondness evident in his eyes, and no, Enjolras doesn’t need to hear Grantaire say anything to know that his love for Grantaire is well received, is returned.

Grantaire says it anyway. 

—

“Peneus,” Enjolras says, one night, when they’re both sated and bone tired, Grantaire draped across his chest. “I’ll talk to Peneus, have him grant me your hand in marriage.”

“ _Enjolras_ ,” Grantaire says, caught off guard, and there is an urgency in his voice. How is it that Grantaire is surprised by this, how does he not know how Enjolras feels about him? “Are you sure?”

“I have never been surer,” Enjolras tells him. Then, softer, gentler, “I love you.”

Grantaire’s look goes soft, and the corner of his lips tip up again, still as pleasantly surprised by the proclamation as he was the first time Enjolras had voiced it. “You really mean it,” he says, hushed. 

“Of course,” Enjolras replies easily. “I would have you by my side forever, if you so wish it.”

“I do. You know I do,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras beams at him. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he tells Grantaire. He brushes his fingers over the curve of Grantaire’s cheeks, pauses to kiss the upturned corners of Grantaire’s lips. “I don’t know how it happened, but I can’t think when you’re not near me. You’re all that’s on my mind, all the time. I love you so much, R.” 

Grantaire is suddenly very still in his arms. 

“R?” he says into the dark. “Are you alright? You’re very quiet.”

“I’m just…tired,” Grantaire replies, and his voice is soft, thin, and Enjolras runs his fingers through Grantaire’s hair softly. Grantaire smiles at Enjolras faintly. “You’ve worn me out.”

“Then sleep,” Enjolras tells him, and kisses his brow, watches as Grantaire’s eyelashes sweep his cheeks as he closes his eyes. 

—

Grantaire isn’t next to him when he wakes up next, and it shouldn’t make Enjolras feel out of place in his own bed, but it does. He’s found out in the past few weeks that he is at his most comfortable when Grantaire is within reach, and Grantaire had been more than happy enough to stay within reach.

He isn’t now, and Enjolras aches everywhere, yearns for Grantaire with his every being. 

“Grantaire?” he calls out, and receives no response. 

He sets out looking for Grantaire. 

—

He finds Grantaire at the bank of the river.

“Grantaire,” he says, and smiles, because his mood is infinitely better now that he has found Grantaire. “I woke up and you weren’t there.”

Grantaire’s smile feels a little strained, and Enjolras goes forward to him, cups Grantaire’s face in his hands, and brushes a kiss to the corner of Grantaire’s lips.

“Is everything alright?” he asks, frowning when he notices that the kiss doesn’t make Grantaire’s lips curl up in that tiny smile that he loves so much. “Is something making you upset?”

Grantaire shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he tells Enjolras, and smiles at him. He brushes a stray curl off Enjolras’ face. “Why are you here?”

“I came looking for you,” Enjolras says, and rolls his eyes, because that much should be obvious. “Will you come back with me?”

“No,” Grantaire says gently. “You have duties to oversee. And I have work to do,” he reminds Enjolras. When Enjolras’ face falls, Grantaire bends to pick a flower from the ground and presses it to Enjolras’ palm. “I have to get you flowers. I won’t be long,” he promises. 

“Bring hyacinths,” Enjolras decides, wanting to please Grantaire, wanting to bring that shy, happy smile back on Grantaire’s face. “You like hyacinths best.”

“They aren’t for me,” Grantaire says, but he looks pleased enough, so Enjolras doesn’t bother saying anything in reply to that.

“You’ll be back soon?” he asks, leaning in to kiss Grantaire’s cheek.

“As soon as I can,” Grantaire tells him, and his voice sounds off, but he tilts his head towards Enjolras, and catches his lips in a deep kiss. “Go, Apollo,” Grantaire breathes out, when they part. 

Enjolras does.

Grantaire is looking at him when he turns back, and Enjolras pauses mid-step and thinks about going back, sweeping Grantaire into his arms, and telling him to go back with him now, to not bother with the flowers, but he knows Grantaire loves spending time with his other nymph friends at the flower gardens, so he just smiles at him, tucks the flower Grantaire gave him behind his ear, and turns to walk away.

—

It is Floréal who shows up with his hyacinths, later. 

Enjolras is instantly alert. “Where is Grantaire?” he asks, a sense of worry creeping close, curling around his stomach, and latching there. “Why is Grantaire not here? Did something happen to him?”

Floréal blinks at him as she sets the flowers down. “He told me you would be expecting me,” she tells him. 

The strained smile on Grantaire’s face, the way he wasn’t receptive to Enjolras’ affections, all come to Enjolras in a rush now. 

He gets up from his seat and goes to Floréal. “Where did you last see him? How do I find him?”

“I came by him by the river, just past the narcissus plants.” She pauses, seemingly hesitant, before she adds, “They were drooping. Grantaire seemed sad.” 

Enjolras thanks her and quickly leaves. He follows the trail of drooping flowers from the river till he reaches Grantaire, who is standing by a cliff. 

“Grantaire?” he calls out, when he’s about twenty paces away. 

Grantaire turns over, eyes wide, frazzled, and says, “Don’t come any closer, please.”

Enjolras halts in his steps. “Why?” he asks. Then, “Are you alright, R? Did I do something?”

Grantaire shakes his head. “You didn’t do anything,” he says, and Enjolras hates the hunch of his shoulders, wants to bring his smile back. 

He takes a step forwards, but Grantaire notices, and takes a corresponding step backwards. Enjolras freezes, because Grantaire is dangerously close to the edge of the cliff, and he won’t have Grantaire getting hurt. 

“Oh, Apollo,” Grantaire says, and that is a sign too, isn’t it? Because Grantaire hasn’t called him by his title since they got together. “Won’t you leave, please?”

Enjolras shakes his head. “Not until you tell me what’s troubling you.” He swallows and reaches a hand out. “Will you come here, R? Will you come to me so we can talk?”

“It’s Montparnasse,” Grantaire says, and Enjolras can hear the tremble in his voice. “He did something to you. With his arrows. That’s why you’re feeling like this, that’s why you think you _love me_.”

“But I _do_ -”

“You don’t!” Grantaire cries. “You don’t, you never have, and if you were in the right state of mind, if you were still _you_ , you would hate this and you would hate me, so I can’t let this go on.” Tears start falling down his face. “Won’t you please leave, Apollo?”

“Enjolras,” Enjolras snaps. “It’s Enjolras to you, stop calling me Apollo.”

“Please,” Grantaire says, pleads. “Please just go, Enjolras, please. If you love me, if you care for me, even just a little bit, please leave.”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras says, and draws a deep breath, because Grantaire must be mistaken in this, someone must be trying to drive them apart on purpose, and Enjolras is going to get to the bottom of this. He just needs to get Grantaire away from the cliff first. “R, please, trust me to know that my feelings for you are real.”

“That afternoon before we- _Before_.” He stares straight at Enjolras, chin raised. “Did you have a fight with Montparnasse?”

Enjolras remembers that day, remembers the fight Grantaire is referring to, remembers being in a foul mood, remembers Montparnasse being more antagonistic than usual, remembers mocking Montparnasse’s archery skills and telling him that he didn’t deserve his arrows. “I did, but that doesn’t-”

“Did Montparnasse tell you that he’ll make you believe in the power he wields?” Grantaire interrupts. “Did he tell you that he’ll make you believe in the power of love’s arrows?”

Enjolras blinks. “He did,” he says, but it’s not relevant, it’s not what Grantaire thinks it is. He doesn’t know why Grantaire would come to a conclusion like that, but they can have this conversation when Grantaire is far from the cliff, is safe from any form of danger. “R, won’t you come away from the edge?”

Grantaire shakes his head. “You said last night that you can’t stop thinking about me, and that raised some flags, so I slipped away in the night. I went to Montparnasse,” Grantaire tells him, voice breaking. “I was going to talk to him, but I overheard his conversation with the centaur Babet. He did something to you, Apollo. You wouldn’t be feeling anything for me if he hadn’t.”

“That’s not true,” Enjolras is quick to answer, because it is true, it must be. He knows how he feels about Grantaire, and every cell in his body is telling him that it is true. “ _I love you_ , you know I love you.”

“You don’t,” Grantaire insist. “And that’s why I couldn’t let this farce continue.”

There is something in Grantaire’s voice now, an odd numbness, and it brings fear to Enjolras’ being. 

“What have you done, Grantaire?” he asks, and takes a step towards Grantaire. When Grantaire doesn’t stop him, he closes the space between them, and takes Grantaire into his arms. “Grantaire, what have you done?”

“You should go, Apollo,” Grantaire says quietly, but he clutches onto Enjolras, fingernails digging into his skin. “It’s almost sunset. I don’t want you to see this.”

“ _Grantaire_ ,” Enjolras snarls. “What did you do?”

“I begged for help. Peneus heard me,” Grantaire tells him. He extends his arm, shows it to Enjolras, shows Enjolras how his skin is toughening, turning into bark, and Enjolras cannot breathe, because he knows what Grantaire has done now. “It’s done now, there’s no changing it. If you love me, you will let me go, and you will leave.”

Enjolras shakes his head. “I won’t, _I won’t leave_.” He presses his lips to Grantaire’s, fierce. Behind them, the sun continues its slow descend. “Tell me how to fix this, please. Tell me how to reverse this, R.” 

Grantaire doesn’t reply, just presses a soft kiss to Enjolras’ bare shoulder. “Will you at least close your eyes for me?” he asks Enjolras. 

“Anything,” Enjolras breathes out, weeps, and does as Grantaire says. Then, “ _I love you_.”

In the space between one breath and another, Grantaire leaves him. 

—

He’s just finished fashioning a crown out of the leaves that are the remnants of Grantaire now, when Montparnasse comes to him.

“May I touch you?” he asks Enjolras, and it’s not an apology, but his head is bowed down lower than it’s ever been in Enjolras’ presence. “To fix this? To bring an end to your sorrow?” He pauses, swallows. “It’s what he would want me to do.”

Enjolras thumbs across the crown in his hands, numb, and says, “You may do whatever you wish. I cannot find it in myself to care.”

Montparnasse’s face pinches, but he doesn’t say anything, just reaches out to brush Enjolras’ hair away, and press his fingers to the mark his arrow left, just for a moment, before drawing his hand back. “Be at peace now, Apollo,” he says quietly, and maybe that’s an apology. 

Enjolras takes a breath. 

The ache in his chest had ebbed, but not completely, only by the barest shade. He can still feel the sharp pain in his chest at the loss of Grantaire, can still feel his eyes sting when he thinks of Grantaire, can still feel the phantom burn on his flesh from where Grantaire first touched him.

“It didn’t work,” he says hoarsely, and even he knows what that must mean. 

Montparnasse startles. “What do you mean it didn’t work?”

Enjolras swallows. “I still-”

Montparnasse reaches out to touch Enjolras again, gentle. He concentrates this time, tries to feel what went amiss. 

He see it in flashes. 

Enjolras going to the forrest nymphs while Grantaire is away, politely requesting for them to arrange it so that Grantaire will be the only one to bring his daily flowers.

Enjolras suppressing the curl of his lips until after Grantaire, face gently tinged red, turns to walk away, when he comes in to leave Enjolras his flowers the next day.

Enjolras leaving some of Dionysus’ wine out for Grantaire, when he learns that Grantaire has a liking for the drink, passing it off as leftovers when Grantaire turns to him, eyes wide with question. 

Enjolras asking Grantaire to stay to listen to him practice, when he catches Grantaire’s eyes lingering on where his fingers are splayed over his harp.

Enjolras’ soft, contented smile whenever he gets Grantaire to talk freely about himself, his friends, his family.

Enjolras finding himself near Peneus’ river increasingly more often when he goes on walks, because there are rules to this — to wanting to court a god’s child, nymph or not. 

The back of Enjolras’ hand brushing against Grantaire’s when he asks Grantaire to take a walk with him, and the flush on Grantaire’s cheeks such a mindless, simple gesture brings.

Grantaire. Grantaire. _Grantaire_. 

Montparnasse draws his hand back. “Oh,” he says, stunned, eyes wide with shock. “You loved him too.”

Enjolras closes his eyes, breathes, and puts his crown on.

**Author's Note:**

> If it wasn't clear Enjolras is Apollo, Grantaire is not-really-Daphne, Montparnasse is Eros (who isn't trying to be evil, he would've reversed it eventually, he was just trying to mess with Enjolras, not trying to kill Grantaire, who he probably really likes too, which would've been why he did what he did; he thought if Grantaire had a taste of being with Enjolras, it would help him to get over Enjolras easier).
> 
> I'm [here on Tumblr](http://sarah-yyy.tumblr.com/), come say hi!


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